There must be security for all. Or no-one is secure.
There must be havens of peace for all nations. Or no-one will rest easy tonight.
But The Furies are rising.
They speak of the truth unfolding.
All the Gothic elders can see a glint.
The eye of the moon shines down on the silent.
Black shapes in the sky at night.
A dense mist in the lonely cemetery.
Hidden by cold wintry twilight forests.
Three daughters of retribution are coming.
Bringing freedom for the bubble-people.
They are the senders of dreaded madness.
With the falling blood from the sky.
The world dare not answer why.
by Sir Markus Furiae.
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